The Cross-stitch Rant

You know whatcha’ gotta’ watch out for though, right?

It's cross-stitch. I’m serious. Cross-stitch is the root of all evil and has the potential to end all life as we know it. Think about it. You’ve probably got one at home, am I right? Hanging on the wall all pretty and framed saying something nice about puppies or Jesus. Or maybe on that throw pillow you’re always spilling stuff on.

Odds are it was a gift from an older relative. Maybe Grandma Millie whipped off a couple for you all alone in the Day Room at the Home with nothing but her arthritis for company. And let me tell you, start from center cross-stitch kits go like smokes in jail at the Home. They fill a need you see. Imagine you’re in the twilight of your life, haven’t had sex since the Trudeau administration, your kids stuck you in the Home and one day someone passes you a plastic packet full of one last chance to make something nice that’ll last after you’re dead. Tell me you wouldn’t tear that bastard open and go right for the needle.

Who wouldn’t? But like I said, it’s evil. Endless hours of doing your rows, no need to talk. Hell, the clock punching hacks they have watching you aren’t going to change your diaper any faster just because you’re doing something more productive than sitting in your own shit. You’re filling the need. But any time you have something that fills a need you’ve got the chance of hitting bad batch. Maybe some factory worker got sidetracked and folded so far off center that poor old Millie - who’s seen more cross stitch than cock - takes her gleaming, antique silver from the old world needle in hand to pick out a fluffy pastoral scene from nothing only to find that the tree tops are straying up too far past the clouds. And then what? Ho-lee sheep shit then what?

I’ll tell you. You get a sweet little old lady who wouldn’t say boo if you pissed in her tea screaming for the number of whatever third world slave labour camp sent her bad cross-stitch. And she’s shrieking fit to strip her throat raw and doesn’t care ‘cause it’s life’s last joke, as far as she’s concerned, waiting for the punch line so the curtain can finally fall on this stage of her life. So watch out, ‘cause maybe it’s your turn to visit the condemned that day and she spots your outsider’s eyes and there's nothing but nothing standing between you and fury with a needle in hand. What’ll you do then, huh?

Well there’s no way you can haul off and lay out a centigenarian without looking like the world’s biggest asshole so you try your best to keep your eyes whole in their sockets while holding her off for the men with the tranquilizers to show up and walk her off for some quiet time in a room with rubber walls. And all the time you’re proper pissed because an old lady has effectively kicked your ass and you‘re wearing scratch marks on your face to prove it. Maybe - gods forbid but it could happen - you’re the leader of the free world and not even your earpiece wearing, gun toting spooks lifted a finger to keep Millie off of you. So you get back to the office and pick up the phone to order an Armageddon special with a side of revenge, hold the hassle, all because of cross-stitch. It could happen.